


band aids and a half dozen of tulips.

by bvrton



Series: college kids and soft couples [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Bucky Barnes, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awesome Kate Bishop, Bad Bobbi Morse, Bucky Barnes Feels, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Mention of withdrawal, Mood Swings, Out of Character, Past Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse, Past Drug Addiction, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Slow(ish) Burn, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-28 02:35:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30132714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bvrton/pseuds/bvrton
Summary: When 24-year-old Clint Barton breaks his engagement just seven months before the wedding, everything starts falling down.Orthe time Bucky brought home a sobbing, scrawny blonde guy and took care of him. After all, healing is important.TAGS ARE CONSTANTLY BEING UPDATED
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Series: college kids and soft couples [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218203
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

He was trembling. Not just because of anger, because betrayal always got the worst of him. Even if the ring in his pocket weighed only nice grams, it felt like a brick that was only slowing him down. So he pedaled even faster, he barely avoided hitting a pedestrian. The tears clogged his eyes and made him lose focus. He had to just get into the library, read whatever book was in his Corporate Law and Transactions syllabus and forget this absolutely awful, terribly bad day.

He coughed a little because of the effort that his lungs were making by allowing him to cry and pedal at all speed at the same time. He almost fell off the bike in a curve but he kept going, the backpack jumping up and down because of the velocity. Just when he was recklessly crossing Amsterdam Avenue, it happened.

It was not the car's fault. Clint stared at the car paint, red chipped because of him and then he put his eyes in his purple bike, no damage apparently but...

"Oh my god." He sobbed, wincing at the pain in his wrist when he tried to hide his face in his hands so he could cry. The right side of his face was bleeding since he hit the concrete and everything was so, so wrong. "Fuck!" He just wanted to cry himself to sleep, he couldn't even get drunk because that would mean breaking his four-year sobriety and Barbara had already taken so much from him. His sobriety wasn't gonna be one of those things.

He wasn't listening to the brown-haired guy, concerned eyes and saddened expression that tried to help him. He just cried more.

Bucky stared at him perplexed, moving slowly like the scrawny blonde kid was a deer and he was the hunter. He picked up the old bike and put it in the bike rack, securing it rapidly to get back to the blonde quickly. He chooses to approach him. He didn't look dangerous, with his puffy red eyes, bloody face with nasty scratches and (luckily) a scratched purple helmet. He just looked really, really sad.

Bucky got him up on his feet, and without a second thought helped him get in the car. He was still sobbing and trembling and yes, he was sitting in his backpack but that didn't matter. "Hey, uh, where do you live? I just wanna help you, you could use a little help." Barnes used his most soft tone of voice, but that got him nowhere. The blonde wasn't speaking, he was just staring at the front, sobbing and choking in his tears.

Bucky drove to his place. Steve would understand. Right?

_(No, he wouldn't.)_


	2. Chapter 2

Sam moved slightly when he heard a sound coming from downstairs. Steve frowned at him, putting the dense brush aside. "What now?" He asked, and his boyfriend laughed nervously. He had been in the same position for almost 2 hours, and yes, it's not the first time Steve asked him to be his muse, but he was full of energy and he really wanted to kiss his boyfriend, so he'd been moving a lot, but now it wasn't because he wanted kisses. There was a good reason.

"There's sound downstairs." 

"Yeah and? It's probably Bucky, he just got out of the library." Steve dismissed him with an annoyed voice. He grabbed the brush again, trying to finish Sam's abdomen, perfectly lightened by the sundown's orangy glow. 

"Babe, I'm pretty sure that dude doesn't cry because of college. I hear someone sobbing." Sam sat straight and Steve holds his breath to listen clearly. 

"What the hell?" And yeah, someone was sobbing. Sam got up first, if there was an intruder in the house he wasn't going to let his boyfriend fight whoever the fuck was busting into their home to- cry. 

Bucky was indeed downstairs. But there was a tall guy on the couch, he was crying quite loudly and he seemed miserable. Bucky was kneeling next to him trying to comfort him but it was really, really useless. "Hey, look, you have a pretty nasty injury on your face and I bet you don't want a nasty scar that remembers you of this day, why don't you let me clean it? I have pretty big band-aids, you don't even have to move from here, I will just come here with the first aid kit and help you." 

Steve was so confused. Sam was even more confused, standing at the end of the stairs, shirtless and looking at Bucky being nice to someone that wasn't Steve. 

"W-What?" Asked the blonde guy, looking around him confused and then staring at Bucky's eyes. "Oh god, I trashed your car. Oh, fuck." And he started crying again, but this time Bucky held his hand before he could cover his face. 

"Hey, look at me. You're safe and you're okay. You just chipped some of the paint of my car, but I don't give a fuck about that. I would very much appreciate it if you could just let me take a look at that scratch on your face and that nasty sprain in your wrist, okay? Then I can drive you home, or wherever you want. I'm just worried."

"M'kay." He said, softly like the mere act of speaking could break him in half. And fuck, it probably could, the poor thing was shaking like a blackthorn tree. 

Bucky turned around and caught Steve's gaze as he approached the stairs. "I tell you later, I'm gonna go to the bathroom, clean my hands so I can help him out." And Steve wasn't satisfied with that shitty explanation, so they were gonna stay near the living room. They didn't know if the guy was a psychopath! 

Bucky hurried and in less than three minutes he was by the side of the blonde guy again. "This is gonna hurt a bit, it's just a betadine swab, I need to clean the wound before patching it. I'm gonna talk to you all the time and explain all I'm gonna do, is that okay with you?" 

"Mhm." It's all the blonde said, closing his bright blue eyes while Bucky cleaned the blood with the swab stick.

"There. That's it. Now I'm gonna clean it with saline water and then I'm gonna use another swab just to be sure. I have a pretty good cream for wounds like this, I had my fair amount of face injuries when I was a jackass teenager." There was a laugh in his voice and the blonde seemed to perk up a little bit with that. 

Gently, Bucky removed all the dirt and possible bacteria and put a bit of cream on top, then a big blue band-aid, Steve's favorites. "There ya' go. Now, let me check that wrist, only if that's okay with you..." 

"Clint. Clint Barton." He answered, still shaking but less, still crying, but not sobbing. 

"Hmm, yeah, this is definitely a sprain. You didn't break it but you hurt it pretty bad. I can put a bandage on it if you like, and you can have an arm sling. I have a shit tone of those." Clint stood still while Bucky took care of his injuries. The arm sling was pretty comfortable and in a cute light green color, but Clint wasn't really paying attention to colors or such trivial things. His brain was in Barbara and the way her naked body was laying against his father figure, maybe it was his problem for trusting so much. Coulson was just thirty-five, Bobbi was twenty-seven and she was already working in Phil's law firm. How could he be so stupid and naïve?

The guy -Bucky, from what he heard in the car- was so, so gentle and soothing. And yeah, that made his heart ache even more but it was okay. 

No. It wasn't. 

He could feel the tears again. "I'm sorry. I usually don't do this- crashing into someone else's cars and cry in their couches. I swear I'm a pretty normal guy." He says, grabbing the tissue package that Bucky offers to him.

"It's okay, I don't mind having crying blonde guys on my couch. That's a normal Wednesday to me." He jokes and yeah, Clint smiles slightly. "Do you mind telling me what happened? Do you need help getting police assistance or I don't know, a lawyer?" 

Clint actually snorted at that, shaking his head: "I am a lawyer. Well, a law student. I- I just broke off a four-year engagement." 

And yeah, everyone heard that, and saying it out loud was even more painful than thinking about it. "Oh, Clint. I'm so sorry." 

"Me too." He said, pressing his lips together in a fine line. "Me too." 

"Do you have a place to stay?" 

"Uhm, yes, I have my old apartment near Greenwich Village, I just, I was so focused on just pedaling to the library so I could distract my mind and try and focus in my studies instead of- you know, and--"

"Yeah." Bucky sat next to him and Clint stared at the floor, ashamed of himself for being so weak and dumb. He was still sad, but he wasn't gonna be ungrateful for that.

"Just, thank you so much for all of this. I, I have to get going, I need to check if I broke my laptop with the crash and I have so many things to do." 

"I understand. No need to apologize. Just, please, give me your number and let me know that you're okay tomorrow. I can drive you to your place, so you don't have to pedal your way to Greenwich, there's no sunlight left." 

"You're too nice to be real," Clint said, a sad smile on his face.

"No, I just got my good amount of bullshit and I know what it feels like when you think you got nothing left." Bucky stood up, looked at Sam, that had a shirt on now, and then at Steve, who was looking at him half pissed and half worried. "Let's get ya' home, 'kay?"

"M'kay." Clint got off the couch and looked shyly at Steve and Sam while grabbing his backpack, following Bucky to the door. 

"Lemme get this for you." And the brown-haired man took his backpack and guide him to the street, Clint felt the cold in his arms, the hoodie that he was wearing was very thin and it didn't do him justice on a cold spring night. He sat in the passenger seat while Bucky placed the backpack in the backseat and adjusted his seatbelt. 

Clint gave him the exact address while staring at his phone. The screen was a bit cracked because he fell on his phone, but that didn't concerned him. 

The wallpaper of Bobbi, smiling in the middle of him and Phil mocked him. "Could you do something else for me? I know that you've done a lot for me already but--"

"Yeah sure, tell me." He answered when they hit a red light. Clint gave him his phone.

"Could you just- change both wallpapers? It's dumb but if you could that would be amazing." He saw how Bucky stared at his phone by the corner of his eye, he didn't want to stare eye to eye at the guy because that would be too much embarrassment to handle.

He heard the click of the camera and in two minutes his phone was back in his hands. Now both wallpapers were just the picture of the sunset going on right now, pinkish tones fading into deep blues. "Thank you."

"No problem." 

Bucky dropped him just outside a six stories building, waving to Clint till he made sure the guy crossed the entrance. He drove back to his place and yes, Steve was waiting for answers. Bucky was just too tired.

He just climbed up the stairs and drop dead in his bed without even changing his clothes. 

In the morning, a series of messages on his phone were waiting for him.

_Clint: hey, is the guy that hit you with his bike._

_Clint: I left my backpack in your car_

_Clint: also, I'm alive._

Bucky just let go a soft, relieved chuckle.


	3. Chapter 3

So, yeah, _that's what's going on._

Clint had big, chunky headphones, neon purple in his blonde head, a band-aid in the bridge of his nose and the big band-aid in this face was intact, it wasn't the cheap kind, Bucky never bought the cheap kind. 

He saw him through the window of his car. The guy was standing, leaning against his bike, sunglasses on and two coffees in his hands. Bucky got off the car, grabbed the backpack that was still lying in the back seat and walked towards him. "Hey." 

"Hey, stranger. Here, I got you a coffee. I have a gift that allows me to know exactly what kind of coffee people drink with just a few interactions." His voice sounded rough, and when he pulled up his glasses, his eyes were swollen and puffy, he was the type of person who got a rash when they cried, so his cheeks were also red. It was really cold, 9 a.m., Bucky usually didn't wake up this early, but the guy had classes and he probably needed his laptop (which was in the backpack) and his books. 

Bucky grabbed the coffee with a small smile, tasting it in his tongue. When the black, bitter taste with a little bit of vanilla cream sat in his tongue, he looked at Clint impressed, he was smiling slightly, drinking his coffee. "How the fu--?"

"Barista for almost three years and also a coffee lover. You seem to like your coffee, not only to drink it for pleasure but for waking you up. So, minimal sugar it's kinda crucial for that. But you really like vanilla. Your house smells like vanilla cookies and your car too, so I guessed 'well, he might like one vanilla cream pump' and yeah, I was right." Clint didn't sound smug, but confident. Very lawyer-y. He was wearing something like a formal outfit today, the shirt was correctly pressed in a light lavender tone, the black sweater was thin but looked comfortable, and the pants were denim, but formal denim. 

"You got court today?" 

"I- no," he laughed, putting his sunglasses down. "I'm a sophomore but I really want to impress one of the invited lecturers we have for the month, she runs one of the most important firms in the tri-state region and I would love to work for her, so, yeah." Clint grabbed his backpack while they started walking towards the building. "What do you have now?"

"Oh, we have a new lecturer too this month, but she starts lecturing at 1 p.m., so I guess I'm just gonna read at the library and then grab lunch." 

"Wait, you study here too?" Clint was actually shocked, Bucky laughed softly.

"Isn't it pretty obvious...?" He says, pointing at his Columbia sweatshirt. 

"I mean, now that you say it, yeah. A bunch of people wear the college apparel just for the hell of it, I thought you studied in something- art related?" Bucky nods and yeah, that was a common misconception. There was nothing that gave out the fact that he went to Columbia, there was a bunch of art books, canvases, used art supplies, portfolios and Bucky loved his home that way. He'd been taking care of Steve since they were teens and he's so proud that his best friend (his little brother, at this point) got into college after all the shit that happened in his life. 

"All of that stuff is Steve's art things. He goes to Parsons, he's studying for his master's in Fine Arts. He's a genius." 

"You sound pretty proud. Boyfriend?"

"Brother. His boyfriend was the guy that was standing shirtless in the stairs." Clint nods, a little smile on his face. "So, are we talking about it or-?" 

"Nope, we're talking about what you're studying and we're ignoring what happened yesterday. Hi, I'm Clint Barton, I drive a purple bike and I definitely don't crash into guy's cars." 

"Hi, Clint Barton. I'm James Barnes, I definitely don't take guys home the second they crash my car with their purple bikes." 

"Nice to meet you, James." 

"Nice to meet you too, Clint." And he _wasn't_ flirting. Of course, he wasn't, it was a friendly talk. A really friendly talk. Very, very friendly. Yes. 

_Lips. Red lips. Blush. Pretty._

"So, what are you majoring in?" What? James didn't look that young. He chuckled and Clint stared at him.

"I already have my major. I'm studying for my master's now." He said, and Barton looked at him in awe. "What? You're the one that looks like a teenager. I'm twenty-seven." And Clint's smile faded. 

"What- did I said the wrong thing?" Bucky asked worried, standing in front of the blonde. 

"No it's just- you're the same age as my fiancée, well, ex-fiancée. I think that's why she cheated on me. Maybe I'm just too fucking young for her or, whatever." Clint was pale again, and his breathing shortened a little, Bucky placed a hand in his shoulder, shaking the guy a bit.

"Hey, Clint. There's no excuse for cheating. There's nothing wrong with you being younger. You're an amazing guy with favoritism for purple and a hella good taste in coffee." He said, and Clint smiled a little, hitting him playfully in the chest. 

"Dude, you're fucking ripped." He said, and Bucky laughed out loud. "How the fuck do you have time for the gym?" And now it was Bucky's smile turn to fade. Clint got closer, waiting for him to talk. 

And yes, Bucky needed a hot second to regain his composure. Talking about Steve's health was always tough because he was constantly scared for his brother's well-being, it was very close to what parents feel for their kids. 

"I don't, I just- Steve was a really sick teen, and a really sick adult so taking care of him required strength and a lot of carrying him around with his wheelchair or things like that." Clint nodded, without pity in his eyes. He wasn't disrespectful like that. "I guess that gets you a pretty good physique." 

"So that's what you're studying for your master's? Being a good-looking fella with a cool car and a cool brother?" Clint was one of a kind. "So now getting serious, what's your major and what are you studying now?" 

"Well, I majored in education and now I'm getting my master's degree in Latin American and Iberian Cultures with a concentration in Hispanic Cultural Studies. Basically, I'm a bookworm that really loves Hispanic and Latin-American culture." 

"That's so cool! Do you know spanish or- what's the other one? Portuguese?" 

"Uh, yeah, my mom is cuban and my dad is chilean and in high school, I learned portuguese pretty quickly." He had entered the foster system when he was a kid. His parents had passed when he was ten and then the most awesome family ever adopted him and welcomed him into their culture. They and Steve were his everything.

"So this master's of yours is kind of an homage to them or what?" 

"Well, kinda. I got really into books from the Latinamerican Boom when I was a child and my mom's a poet so she influenced me towards big Latin American and Hispanic writers of the 60s and the 70s." 

"I just know Pablo Neruda from high school." Clint sighs, and Bucky's mouth twitches. "Hey, don't be rude." Clint wasn't mad, that was the same reaction that he had when someone dismissed his knowledge and maybe Bucky felt like he was dismissing his knowledge.

"I'm not mad at you for not knowing more writers, I'm just mad at the system for not teaching kids right. Did you know Pablo Neruda was a rapist and an abuser?" _Oh._

_Clint of course didn't know that._

"I had no idea. Oh my god, but they're still teaching his poems to kids these days..." That was awful. Something changed in Bucky's eyes. They sat on one of the benches and Clint secured his bike next to him. 

Bucky was using his teaching voice now, and Clint found himself paying attention to every word that left the guy's mouth: "Yes, I know. He was a rapist, a man who abandoned his disabled daughter, calling her a 'ridiculous being', he was a disgusting man. I will never teach his poems, I would never disrespect my students that way." 

"I wish I had you as a teacher in high school. Maybe I wouldn't have failed English literature that many times." And that was one of the biggest compliments Bucky could receive. He smiled big and blushed slightly, Clint smiled with him. The «Barbara subject» didn't hurt that much when he was talking to Bucky. 

"I'm buying you lunch today," James said, putting his alarm on at noon, Barton laughed at that. "What?" 

"I just never thought you were that kind of person." He chuckled, Bucky frowned.

"What kind of person?"

"You know, the ones that rely a lot on alarms and calendars." 

"Oh shut up. My brain only functions when it's something literature-related. I always forget to eat." _He was pouting._

Clint's smile got even bigger. "Okay tough guy, we're having lunch at my best friend's place. She has an italian restaurant nearby and she does the best meatballs sandwich you've ever had before." Bucky sat closer to him and Clint didn't complain. "This isn't a date, uh, I'm not trying to be a jerk, but I just wanna be friends now." 

"I know," Bucky says, standing up with a big smile still on his lips. "I let you know when it's a date, 'kay?" Bucky wasn't going to jeopardize his new friendship just because he found Clint handsome. It was hard for him to like people that quickly, so he had a pretty close group of friends, but Clint crashed (ha) into his walls and tore them down with his sad face and quick small smile.

"M'kay." 

And then both continues their ways. Bucky to the library, Clint to his lecture. 

_Clint: now my backpack smells like vanilla_

_Clint: i took my laptop out and i sneezed_

_Bucky: CLINT-_

* * *

"Hey, Katie! You got a new customer." Screamed Clint, sitting in the tall chair in front of the tall table. Bucky sat in front of him, smiling slightly and hanging his backpack in the little hangers below the table. 

"Hey, asshole." Said a girl, frowning till she saw that yeah, she really had a new customer. "God, Clint, you're really an asshole. Hey, good afternoon, welcome to Bishop's, did you check our online menu already?" She was really pretty, black-haired and with the same shade of blue eyes as Clint. Her face had band-aids too, but she made it work. 

"I was promised the best meatball sandwich I'll ever have in my life." Clint smiled at him while Kate frowned at the blonde.

"Of course. This dumbass only promotes my meatball sandwiches even though I work my ass off to bring new things to the menu." She wasn't mad, but she was very good at pretending. Clint just laughed. 

"I love you too Katie." 

"Yeah, yeah, I love you but you're still a dickhead in my book. I'm gonna bring your sandwiches in a minute. What would you like to drink?" She clearly wasn't talking to Clint. The blonde probably had lunch there every day and they knew each other pretty well.

"Do you have pineapple juice?" Asked Bucky and Clint shrugged in disgust. He disliked pineapple. 

"Yes! Finally, someone who likes pineapple juice. You're now my favorite customer." She said before leaving and running towards the kitchen. 

"Why did you make that face?" Asked Bucky, while Clint put his phone away.

"I really dislike pineapple. Katie loves it, she constantly tortures me with that damned fruit." 

"I'm not a big fan, but pineapple juice is pretty healthy. I don't like it in cakes though." Clint made a face again and Bucky let off a soft laugh. "Does she knows about... You know?" 

"Of course. She was my fiancée's landlady, she forgave her rent for three months and when she found out Bobbi cheated on me, she kicked her out. She took my stuff out of Bobbi's place and yeah, she's pretty amazing. It's not that I like the fact that my fiancée doesn't have a place anymore, but Kate needed that money and it was her legal right to evict her. Sorry, I'm oversharing over here."

"No, it's okay, I'm an oversharer too. Don't worry about it." Bucky comforted him, thanking Kate quickly when she handed him a cold glass of juice and then ran off to the kitchen again. "I'm kinda glad that you have your stuff back." 

"Yeah, I wanted my clothes back. Bobbi had the nerve to say she missed me, and well, now I'm here, drowning my sadness into a meatball sandwich. It's the healthiest coping mechanism I have left." 

"What do you mean?"

"I'm an alcoholic. I've been sober for four years, pretty proud of myself, not gonna lie."

"And you should be. I was addicted to oxy when I was a teen. Been sober for almost eight years." 

"Let's drink to that then!" Clint grabbed his glass of strawberry juice and clinked with Bucky's glass. 

It was a really nice lunch. And the meatball sandwich was really the best Bucky had in his entire life.

(Also, Clint was pretty fucking cute when he was getting tomato sauce all over his face.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the idea of Bucky growing up with a multicultural family, also, we all know that the guy's a bookworm and we love him for that. Also, fun fact, my best friend Katherine (Katie) does have the best meatball sandwiches I've ever had in my life.


	4. Chapter 4

A week had passed since he broke the engagement, and the waking-ups were the hardest part of the day. Because, sometimes when he was oh so tired, he woke up in the middle of the night, the shadow of Bobbi's soft hands caressing his back. It startled him, like if the girl was an unpleasant ghost. 

When the alarm rang at seven in the morning, he woke up, still sleepy and careful, his brain so used to slow motions so he wouldn't wake up Barbara early. When he realized his mistake, he stomped hard on the floor, making all the sound he could. _Fuck Barbara_ , he thought. But after all, he still cried in the shower. 

The ring was there too. In the pocket of the jeans that he was wearing when he found them in bed. He tried to look at it, he really, really tried, but he knew that when the gold of the precious piece of jewelry touched his hand, he would be lost. So he threw the jeans in the back of the closet, ring and all. 

Kate had put some of Barbara's stuff in his boxes, some big t-shirts that still smelled like her sweet perfume. Some notebooks could be easily mislabeled since he and Bobbi used the same kind. All that crap threw him off and then the tears fell again. Kate said that this whole thing had allowed him to cry all the tears that he didn't cry in his fucked up childhood. She was probably right. 

Bucky was a huge help though. They texted a lot, they hang when they could and he was a pretty cool guy to be around. He met Steve properly three days ago, apologized for crying on his couch and stealing his favorite band-aids. The guy just smiled at him and gave him a hot cocoa. He was really nice, pretty polite. They talked about stuff that day, Clint found out that Steve was in the best shape he had ever been, the guy was still thin, tall, but thin. Bucky said that he didn't look as fragile as other years and Steve just kicked him in the knee. 

_They were a really good change of vibes._

Steve had figured out he was a mid-western pretty quickly. He wasn't ashamed of Iowa, he didn't hide his past either, if someone asked, he answered. Steve had said that he sounded way too friendly to be a New Yorker, Clint was pretty sure that was just a shitty stereotype but he didn't say anything about it, the guy was fucking awesome. He also found out that James was also a mid-western, Shelbyville-born guy. Finding out things about him was comforting, Barbara was never that open with people she'd meet so recently. Bucky was pretty talkative with them both, Steve told him that the brown-haired man wasn't very sociable usually. 

It was hard for Clint to picture Bucky as anything less than chatty, but when Sam's college friends entered the conversation, Bucky shut down. That was a big ass change from the beautiful, flirty looking guy, to the serious, quiet man that he seemed to be around those guys. He just wasn't as comfortable as he was when it was only Clint and Steve the ones around, and that fact made Clint feel so glad that Bucky'd let him into his life so quickly.

On his phone, now getting back to his morning routine, Bucky's name was on the screen. "You know what? I just feel like shit man. I'm tired, I slept like three hours and I'm so fucking unlucky that I bet today I'm gonna be on call and I haven't even read the case twice." Clint had Bucky on speaker while he put some clothes on and dried his hair. Bucky, on the other side of the phone, was doing the same. 

"I'm feeling pretty at ease today, I had to read a sociology paper about a bunch of protests that happened in Spain and it was pretty interesting."

"I hate you." Clint said, thinking Bucky couldn't hear him.

"I heard that." _Fuck._

"You know? I got into law school thinking it was going to be like Legally Blonde, but this shit's definitely not Legally Blonde. Buck, I operate on constant fear of failure and humiliation. You can't even miss classes in law school! You know, my buddies and I hang out in the grass, some of us crying saying how much we hate this shit and then we go to the library! We're like-- like those pink birds!"

"Flamingos?" And oh yeah, Bucky was cracking up. 

"Yeah! We go like flamingos, one after the other and we just hang in the library. And you know, I'm just plain stupid. This semester I'm doing trial ad., I've been doing moot court for the last two semesters, but I want to be a trial attorney and I also want to collapse in a wall and perish." 

"God, you're so dramatic." But James wasn't annoyed, he was smiling widely. Clint was hilarious and these calls that they had sometimes cheered up his whole day. 

"Ask your dad about his days in law school!" Answered Clint. Bucky's dad, Marcos, was a lawyer too. He figured it out pretty easily since Bucky had zero hard time understanding his legal terms when they talked, and the fact that Bucky's dad was a lawyer was pretty cool. 

"You know, my dad was in law school when his country was going to shit. He finished law school just in time and he fleed Chile before he was caught and disappeared like so many others from his same political party. There was a dictatorship going on." The line went silent and Bucky pressed his lips together to avoid laughing out loud. His dad's exile wasn't something funny, but he learned quickly to joke about it with him because chileans had a pretty dark sense of humor. 

"...Well, now I feel like an asshole." Murmured Clint, looking at the mirror while adjusting his blue jeans. Bucky chuckled. 

"It's okay. My dad's pretty chill about it. He goes back to Chile regularly, I'm the _gringo_ cousin, ya' know? That's pretty dope. My mom on the other half doesn't really like to talk about her days in Cuba. She says that there's too much pain in his heart still, but my dad loves her a lot so they heal each other. That's what they thought me pretty well, that healing is important." He heard Clint's sigh, and he imagined the blonde's face, smiling shyly while they stared at each other. They didn't flirt, but James knew that Barton knew that they weren't a typical macho bullshit friendship. This was meaningful.

"I'm so glad I'm your friend. And I'm so fucking glad your parents are amazing. Bet your mother's smiling in heaven." And that actually made Bucky's breath hitch in his throat. He smiled and sat in bed. 

They talked about the biological parents of James in their third lunch. Clint told him about his crappy childhood in return. Bucky felt his heart flutter in his chest, because even though it was a short conversation, Barton remembered. And he didn't pity him, which was even better.

"You're amazing," Bucky said, and it felt like a soft caress in the cheek. 

He swallowed while feeling the warmth on his face, thinking about Barnes and his comforting smile and confident words. He was amazing. "I'm not. But the fact that you think it it's enough to make me feel good. I'm not an overly friendly guy. I know you're not either, but I believe crashing my bike against your car was one of the best things that have happened to me this month. I guess we were meant to be friends, huh?"

"I don't believe in faith, _dummy_. But yeah, you're pretty decent." 

"Wait a minute, I was amazing a second ago!" Laughed Clint, and Bucky's suffocated chuckle made him smile even bigger. 

"You've been amazing all your life, Barton. Your circumstances haven't just been optimal."

(Clint blushed even more while staring at the phone, _but Bucky would never know._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm chilean, so yeah, I can confirm that we have a pretty dark sense of humor. We laugh a lot because a lot of tragedies happen in our country and that's our way of copping I guess. Also, I really hope y'all are liking this fanfic, I'm having a wonderful time writing it. Don't be shy and comment what are y'all liking it what are y'all not liking. 
> 
> Have a good day/night/afternoon. xo


	5. Chapter 5

The rain was pouring hard, and he felt every drop pass through his crappy eight-dollar hoodie. He was pedaling more and more quickly, losing control of his bike at certain points. He saw the red car in the distance and allowed a shaky sigh of relief to break out of his lungs.

It was a rather wintry day, even though it wasn’t winter, Bucky was drinking his coffee inside his car, too fixated on the bitter taste in his tongue to give a thought about global warming and how it’s going to kill us all, he had parked a block away of the campus and he was going to grab an umbrella and go to his exam when he heard a knocking on the glass of his door.

He breathed deeply, dismayed, immediately unlocking the door as a wet, unsteady Clint sat in the passenger seat. Barton watched Bucky’s face, anger raising on his features, it was like watching it in slow-motion in a movie, except this wasn’t a movie and Bucky was really fucking pissed.

“Please tell me you didn't ride your bike here when it's raining and you don't have a helmet.” His voice came out as a low growl and Clint felt ashamed of himself, which was extremely weird since well, he’s the most shameless person he knows.

“I didn’t ride my bike here when it’s raining and without a helmet?” He answered and oh, he felt Bucky’s need to smack him. Clint always knew when people wanted to smack him, it was like a superpower.

"Smartass," murmured Bucky, looking for a beach towel underneath the seat. He always kept 'em in case he had to crash someplace else. He also had a kit with all essentials. Barnes was a prepared man. “Why would you do that? Clint, you’re already sick, do you wish to have pneumonia?! Because I can tell you it’s not pretty nice.” Bucky felt the irritation in his tone, but it was too late to control it. He had seen Steve with pneumonia and he would not let Clint go through that too. It was an unpleasant disease and the scrawny kid was that, a scrawny kid.

He took Clint’s hoodie off fast and wrapped him in the towel with ease. He gradually increased the warmth of the seats and the car in general, and of course, gave all of his coffee to the blonde. But he was still mad. Clint wasn’t arguing, too busy heating himself up enough for his hands to cease shaking.

“I- you left your laptop at my place and I assumed you would need it for your exam today. You drove with my laptop one time and I thought--“ Barton looked unhappy, and Bucky felt less annoyed. He grabbed the blanket of the backseat and placed it over the blonde while he looked at the coffee in his hands.

“Clint-“ He sighed, “Clint, I don’t care about the laptop. You’re my friend. I care about you, I can read my notes from my phone. I can’t talk with my friend if he’s in a hospital bed, can I?” He placed a hand in Clint’s knee, and the blonde nodded. “C’mon, don’t be sad. I’m not mad anymore, ‘kay? But you’re going to stay in here in my car, heating yourself up and when I get back from my test, we’re gonna have lunch at Katie’s.” Clint glanced at him grinning, big blue eyes making him lose concentration. Barton was pretty, prettier than most boys Bucky’s ever liked. But again, he doesn’t like Clint that way.

“You like her, don’t ya’?” Asks the blonde, taking him aback. Barnes smiled, nodding while grabbing his umbrella, preparing himself to go out in the rain while Clint put his laptop into his backpack. Bucky thanked him quietly.

“She’s bratty, but she grows on you.” He answered. Clint smiled while drinking the coffee. “I gotta go now, you can come inside the library if you want, but grab the umbrella that’s in the backseat, please.”

“M’kay.” And Bucky wasn’t really thinking when he did this, but he did it anyway.

Clint felt the plump, warm lips on his forehead and before he could react, he was watching Bucky walk towards the campus, umbrella at hand. He didn’t look back. Clint shouldn’t have felt how he felt when the soft beard was against his skin. Bucky’s lips were fairly warm, soft and full, just how they looked, those lips were made for kissing foreheads (or cheeks, or other lips), which made Clint shiver out of mere shock. It was just a chaste kiss on the forehead. A grandma’s kiss. No biggie.

_Right?_

Bucky closed his eyes hard, cursing at himself for being that way. Really, a kiss on the forehead? and yeah, maybe it was Barton to blame. He looked so soft, so beautiful with his wet hair and red nose with a soaked band-aid. He was just precious. Bucky couldn’t hold himself. And it wasn’t romantic. Oh, no, of course not. But the way Clint's skin felt soft and cold made Bucky want to hold him, just for a little while. True, his lips tingled with yearning, but that was just a completely platonic thing.

But he still thinks about the doe-eyed blonde, pretty as a doll in his car. Wrapped in his blanket with just a thin white translucent t-shirt that left part of his freckled chest uncovered. He left him there, warm in his car, smelling like vanilla and his own cologne. Clint was beyond pretty. Plumped pink lips and pale complexion, he had dense eyelashes, light and soft like his skin. Bucky had observed him. The way the man’s skin was naturally pinkish, just like the scars he has scattered all over his body. Small, but there.

He had story mapped in his limbs and chest, and the few times Bucky saw his bare arms, he had asked. Clint had answered and oh Lord, James hadn’t liked the answers at all.

Barnes was familiar with fury. It grew on him like fire reacting to gasoline; moved him even. Fury had been his fuel for years, but he hadn’t felt that mad since he was a teenager. The way he wanted to break Clint's dad's face--, he wanted to do awful things to that pathetic excuse of a human being. And to the blonde’s brother, Barney. He couldn’t believe how much suffering and pain Barton had been through, losing his home, his mom’s death, his dad’s sketchy business, and the way his dad’s clients had beaten him up for years instead of going to the big man. And Clint had lost no kindness in the way. He was still a decent guy; the kid worked his ass off to get where he’s now and oh, Bucky admired him.

The warmth in his chest abandoned him when he remembered he has a test. He can’t think about his friend’s beautifulness. That was not work appropriate.

* * *

While Clint was in his burrito-status, a knock-knock made him stop thinking about Bucky. Steve was outside, an umbrella in his hand and a frown on his face. Clint unlocked the door and moved to the driver's seat to leave him some room. “Sam again?” Barton asked as the other blonde nodded, anger darkening his pretty face. Why all of his friends had to be so pretty?

“Do we hate him or what?”

“We do. A little.” Said Steve, handing him the keys to Bucky’s car. In the month that they knew each other, Clint found out that Steve and Sam often disagree on a lot of things. They didn’t have big, messy fights, but they fought. “It’s just- he didn’t call me last night, he went out with his buddies from the MIT and he didn’t call me to let me know he was safe. I was up till five-fucking-a.m. and the guy hadn’t called. I drove to his apartment. It was drizzling, and he had the nerve to get mad at me.” Clint patted Steve’s shoulder, giving him the blanket. The guy hugged it, still frowning.

“So what do you want me to do, talk you out of the anger, or do you want me to hate him with you?” Steve smiled, Clint was a hell of a friend. Bucky had made a good call when he brought the scrawny blonde home. But after all, that’s what Bucky had done with him, Barton was another stray.

“Hate.”

“Okay then.” Clint made his best dramatic frown and said: “God, he’s such an asshole, how could he never call you? That’s such bullshit.”

“Yeah! I know, fuck him, right?”

“Yeah, fuck him. Let’s get breakfast at Katie’s, she does a killer marocchino.” Steve smiled even more while Clint started the car, a bit distracted by the fact that Bucky’s seat smelled like his hair, vanilla milk and papaya, the way some long hair strands had caressed his face when he kissed his forehead still played in his mind.

“You look like you’re freaking out,” Rogers said very appropriately.

“Yeah, I kinda am,” Clint said, turning right and checking himself in the rearview mirror shortly. “Bucky kissed my forehead outta nowhere. I’m that kind of friend with Katie. But, you know, I’d known him for only a month. I know Kate since I was like seventeen.”

“Don’t worry about that, Buck is very- you know, _him_ , with people he cares about. He probably feels the need to protect you, no offense, but you look like a kitten.”

So it was only a friendship thing. No biggie.

_No biggie at all. Cool, cool, cool, cool. No biggie._

(But Clint was still freaking out).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLINT DESERVES GOOD FRIENDS.  
> I just like the idea of Clint being Steve's supportive bestie, not in a brother-like way as Bucky, but in a ride-or-die way Clint style, ya' know what I mean?  
> Anyways, hope y'all liked this chapter, THANKS for the kudos and the views, I honestly thought this fanfic would flop but it didn't and I'm really happy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Mild panic attack.
> 
> I handle my panic attacks that way, with something cold against any warm part of my body. I am not saying any panic attack should be handled this way.

When they arrived at Katie’s restaurant, Steve had already texted Bucky about the fact that they’d steal his car. Bucky of course didn’t mind. “Sunshine, bring the coffee!” Clint had screamed, and Kate’s middle finger was already up. Steve chuckled and sat at a corner table, Clint followed him. Kate kissed Clint’s cheek and ruffled Steve’s hair, taking her notepad out to scribble their order. “Two macchiatos- no, what was it? Yeah! _Marocchinos_.” Kate was not amused, but Rogers certainly was. That made Clint smile. His friend didn’t look as mad as before in the car.

“I’m not even going to smack you, you look like a little chicken drowned in a soup.” Clint’s smile turned into a pout. He had his hair just a little bit wet! And yeah, he might look like a little chicken but mentioning it was straight-up rude.

“If the chicken is drowning in soup, and the soup is actually a chicken soup, is the chicken committing cannibalism?” Both Steve and Kate stared at him in disbelief. Kate was the first to break the silence. 

“Sometimes I seriously wonder how the fuck did you get into Columbia.” With that kind of best friend, who the hell wants enemies… Clint smiled big anyway, and smugly replied:

“I fucked all my teachers through my major and I had the best recommendation letters.” Steve laughed wholeheartedly, while Kate smiled slightly. She loved Clint in her very special way. She walked towards the kitchen, leaving both blondes smiling.

“Is that true?” Asked Steve more calmingly. Clint looked away with a sad smile.

“No, I was already engaged and I see no pleasure in cheating. Can’t say the same about my ex-fiancée.” The sad laugh was Clint’s worst kind of laugh. He was pretty transparent with his feelings and that messed him up sometimes. He smiled when Steve grabbed his hand and gave it a little squeeze. Steve sensed he wanted to change the subject, so he took his sketchbook out and his pencil case, looking Clint straight in the eye.

“Do you happen to know if Kate would be willing to do some modelling for your artist friend?” He asked, and Clint really didn’t know the answer. Kate had been a rich kid her whole life and pretty known in the media, so her exposure to art and modelling had been little, if any, the whole private-person thingy that she got going on never allowed those kinda stuff.

“To be honest, I don’t have a clue. You can draw me though. People say I’m pretty.” He made a stupid pose and Steve rolled his eyes.

“I’ve already drawn you, dummy.”

“Wait, really?!” Clint seemed really excited and yeah, he was. Steve simply nodded and opened his thick sketchbook and showed it to him. The date was two weeks ago, when they saw a sappy and sad 80s romance movie that Clint couldn’t bother to remember the name of. He had cried to the damn thing, obviously. 

He was smiling in the draw, drying his eyes with his t-shirt. The band-aid on the bridge of his nose was there, also the freckles and little scars. It was highly realistic and beautiful and his friend’s talent totally marveled him. “Holy shit, this is beautiful Steve, I love it.” He said, nothing but sincerity in his voice, looking more closely. 

“Yeah, beautiful work. They put a lot of sentiment into it, don’t ya’ think _sunshine_?” 

And Clint dropped the sketch book, sensing the bile going up his throat. He must have shown on his face how distressed he was, because Steve seemed quite preoccupied as had caught his hand. Kate was walking calmly towards them, until she saw who was behind Clint. After that she quickly approached the table and put down the tray with the coffees, displeasure darkening her pale blue eyes. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” Asked Steve politely, never letting go of Clint’s hand. From the way the blonde was holding into him like a lifesaver, Clint didn’t mind the contact.

“Someone who’s not allowed in my restaurant. You get the fuck off or I will call the cops.” Steve stood behind Kate, frowning at the words of the black-haired woman. If Kate said the blonde woman in front of them was not allowed in here, he believed her. Also, he was way taller than both of them so it helped Kate’s statement. Not that the girl needed any help, she was a freaking force of nature on her own. 

“With what allegation?” Questioned the blonde, smirking lightly. Kate looked like she was close to throwing a punch on the blonde’s throat. 

“You’re disturbing my client.”

“Am I disturbing you, Clint?” 

“Barbara, what are you doing here?” Barton didn’t even sound sad, he sounded tired. Exhausted even, just like the day Bucky had brought him to his home. He stood up, letting go of Steve’s hand and passing by Kate. He was tall, way taller than any of them, but he still looked small. 

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“After a month? Do you really think I want to talk to you after a fucking month? C’mon Barbara.” Now he was pissed. He was clenching his jaw and the blonde in front of him seemed sad, but still harsh looking, like it didn’t really affect her. 

“Can we just go somewhere private?” She asked, and Clint laughed bitterly, muttering a very clear _you have to be kidding me_ before closing his eyes and inhale deeply.

“No Barbara. Whatever you want to say to me you can say it in front of them.” 

“Clinton--“ She scratched her eyebrow nervously, and Steve almost, almost felt bad for her. But then he remembered Clint’s face, how destroyed he was when he was crying on his couch and all that pity disappeared. “I am sorry. I am sorry for what happened.”

“Call it by its name. Say the words, Barbara. Say you cheated on me, on my bed, with the only fucking person I’ve trusted as a parent. With the guy who basically raised me, even though he was just twenty.” And yeah, the cheating hurts like hell, but Phil? Oh my god, Phil hurts the way his mom’s death hurt him.

“Are you seriously going to slut-shame me in front of your friends?” She said and Clint swears to God he’s going to cry of pure disgust.

“Slutshame you?! I am slut-shaming you?!” His voice went two octaves higher, his hands trembling with rage. “You’re unbelievable, Barbara. I was just stating the fucking facts. You cheated. You cheated on me with my best friend, you cheated on me, the guy who’s been in love with you since he was eighteen. The guy who dropped everything to come here to New York with you. I know I did a lot of shit wrong in my life, but I’m pretty fucking sure I did nothing but love you the whole fucking relationship so Bobbi, you must really fucking hate me because this shit-- you break someone this way because you hate them, and there’s no fucking apology that can mend that.” Clint’s voice broke in the first sentence he said, but that didn’t keep him from expressing what he felt. He took off and climbed up the stairs to Katie’s little office above the restaurant, Steve quickly following him. 

The last thing he heard while going up the stairs was Bishop yelling at Barbara.

* * *

Clint tried to ease his breathing, but it wasn’t possible. He was shaking, his entire body was trembling and nausea was fogging his thoughts. Barton opened the door to the little bathroom in the office and sat in the closed toilet, holding himself tight, applying pressure to relieve some stress. The taller blonde faintly heard Steve’s backpack being tossed to the floor and the door creaking when the blonde joined him. “What do you need?” He asked, softly but understandably, Clint sobbed even louder. 

He started kicking his leg, strong enough to make a sound, and Steve didn’t really know what to do. Clint wasn’t talking and Kate obviously couldn’t come up because she couldn’t leave the restaurant unattended when she still had customers. 

So Clint continued crying, but Steve didn’t leave his side. The blonde was scratching his legs, and he was still shaking. It reminded him of Sam’s panic attacks but every person was different and he couldn’t just go and handle it the way he would with his boyfriend, because it could make it even worse. 

He was feeling antsy, but he would not leave Clint alone, hell no. Barton was making some sounds that could shake the earth, Steve has never seen someone cry so sadly as Clint did, it was-- it was horrible. 

It was noon and Clint was still crying, even though Barbara had probably left an hour ago. Steve hadn’t got the full story, but from what he heard down there, what happened between Barbara and Clint was more than a breakup, it was basically the equivalent of Sam cheating on him with Bucky, and oh Lord, Steve didn’t even want to imagine what would he do if his boyfriend ever did that. 

He got a text from Bucky, saying that he had to walk to the restaurant and he was downstairs. Steve texted him that he was upstairs, he would not explain what happened, probably Kate was filling him in. 

Shortly after the messages, he heard the sound of Bucky’s heavy boots against the wood stairs and he went directly to where the sobs came off, Steve just got up from the bathroom floor and left Buck inside with Clint. 

“Hey-- hey, what happened?” And he was speaking softly, barely-there if you weren’t paying attention. He took off his coat while staring at the blonde who looked up at him and cried even more loudly. Bucky kneeled in front of him, putting his cold, icy hands on Clint’s neck to shake him out. 

And it worked. He had talked about his anxiety with Clint and he had said cold things that can shake you helped him with his anxiety, and apparently he wasn’t lying, because the sobbing stopped right away, but the tears didn’t.

“ _Bucky,_ ” he said, breathing hoarsely. Bucky nodded, Clint had requested nothing, but he nodded anyway, Barton needed reassurance. He grabbed his coat and he put it on Clint, tucking him and trapping his arms. It seemed to calm the blonde like a dog’s anxiety blanket. He let Clint cried till he tired himself. He stayed kneeling in front of the blonde the entire time.

When the tremors stopped slightly, Bucky looked up, putting his head over Clint’s lap. The blonde was a burrito, he couldn’t move his arms, but it was okay, Bucky’s coat was warm and it’s smelled good. “Better?” He asked softly. Clint let go a soft breath of relief and nodded. 

"Thank you,” he said, and his voice sounded rough, Bucky felt sad. “My ex came by. She- she tried to apologize? That was so fucked up, right?”

“Oh, Clint...” Bucky said, still soft, honey brown eyes looking up at him. “That’s not okay. But she’s gone now, ‘kay? She’s not here and you’re going to be okay.” And of course, Barton believed him. James had that effect on him.

The blonde managed to get his arms out and caressed Bucky’s hair, thick and shiny. “Are you cold?” 

“No. It’s okay, your legs are warm.” The brown-haired man closed his eyes and Clint closed his too. Too tired to argue with Buck and why it was bad to have his butt frozen by the cold bathroom tiles. 

But they were okay. 

Clint caressed Bucky’s beard. Bucky didn’t mind. It was no biggie, right?

“ _Aw_ , I left the coffee downstairs.” And Barnes chuckled.

Steve smiled outside the bathroom. He had his coffee by the way; _he was no fool._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning (tho I don't know if it needs content warning?): Steve's sick. Not like too sick, but sick.  
> Also, in Chile we use mercury thermometers, but I think in the US people use the digital ones.

_I feel like shit. But I have to wake up. C'mon, open your eyes._

Bucky sighed and opened his eyes, blinking when the light coming through the window was way too much to handle. Steve was laying in bed next to him, and the fever had spiked again, he knew it without even touching his forehead. The guy was sweating and shaking and Bucky was so, so tired. Sam was in college this week. He had a project to do and when you have the privilege to go to the MIT, you don't joke around. 

So Bucky stayed with Steve, how could he leave his little brother alone? "C'mere, let's get you in the bath. 'Kay? I'm gonna get you a nice bath to regulate your temperature." Steve nodded, but he was crying. Bucky felt his heart break. He got up and walked towards Steve's side and helped him out, holding most of his weight. With little effort, he picked him up. Steve was taller than him, but James was stronger. He sat his friend in the closed toilet, running the hot water in the tub. Steve looked like hell, but better than other times. 

"Do you wanna pee before getting in the tub?" Steve nodded. Bucky turned his back to him and monitored the water's warmth. It had to be close to Steve's temperature right now, and then he could lower the temperature so Steve's fever went down slowly. He'd done this routine more times than he could count. 

When Steve was ready, he tapped Bucky's shoulder and the brown-haired man helped him to get in the tub. Steve started to shake even more, tears rolling down his face. "I know, I know kid." He said softly, putting a wet piece of clothing on the blonde's forehead. He didn't care if his clothes got wet, Bucky never got sick, not even when he was a kid. He broke his bones with ease, but he never got sick. 

Steve cried a little more, just like the night before. Bucky sang to him in a low voice, washing his body softly. "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna get out of the bath feeling better, okay?" Bucky still didn't know how he got sick in the first place. But in New York, at this time, it was easy to catch a cold anywhere, people were fucking careless. 

He lowered the temperature of the water and Steve didn't shake so much this time. Bucky got up from the little bench he put close to the tub and searched for the mercury thermometer on the cabinet. They weren't really safe for kids, but Steve wasn't a kid. The mercury thermometer was the most accurate one and Bucky had borrowed it from his parents, in Latinamerica the digital ones weren't really trusted, Bucky didn't trust digital thermometers either. He had to learn how to convert the Celsius scale of the mercury one to the Fahrenheit of any american thermometer, and that made him feel pretty smart.

"Okay, lemme put the thermometer, c'mon, put your arm up a bit. Yeah, there ya' go." Steve leaned on and Bucky hugged him a bit, getting his shirt soaked. "I know you feel bad. You wanna eat soup for breakfast?"

"Mhm." Steve was a grown man, Bucky was aware of that. But he had taken care of him since they were teens, Steve was younger than him and he would always see him as the scrawny fifteen-year-old that was barely hanging on. He would always protect him.

He was 102 degrees. It was high, but better. He'd piked to 104,5 at night, and Bucky almost drove to the hospital, but Steve had cried so hard that they stayed at home. He couldn't do that to him. Steve hated the hospital so much. Bucky helped the blonde out of the tub, wrapping him in soft, thick towels. He was going to blow-dry the blonde hair immediately, Steve was going to cry a bit more, but he already knew that. 

"Hey, do you wanna talk to Sam after I dry your hair? We can catch him in his break, okay?" Steve nodded, wiping away the new tears. "C'mon, don't cry, you're gonna be okay." He hugged the blonde while drying his hair, it was hard, but he managed. Steve had more strength now that his fever was lower, so Bucky didn't have to pick him up to get him to bed. 

Bucky dialed Sam's number, really hoping that he'd pick up, and when he did, the man was confused. "Why you're calling me? Are you dying?" Bucky rolled his eyes and walked out of the room. 

"Asshole. No, Steve is- pretty sick, sicker than the other days and he really misses you." He heard Sam grumble and the sound of metal hitting metal. A guy cursed too and Bucky sighed. He really didn't want to bother Sam, but Steve became needy and cuddly when he was sick and he really wanted his boyfriend. 

"Fuck-- shit. Tony, handle that shit for me please, I need a second." And then the metallic sound wasn't there anymore. "I'm driving home, gimme three hours. Four hours maximum, put him on the phone would ya'?" 

"Sam, stay there. You don't have to come in, you have things to do."

"I don't give two fucks about this project, Steve needs me." And Bucky might not like Sam very much, but he was a good boyfriend. A really fucking good boyfriend, top-tier behavior. 

"Steve is fine. I'm taking care of him, I swear. I know you're worried, but I've been taking care of Steve for years, he just needs to hear your voice before he falls asleep." He heard Sam sigh, and Bucky rubbed his eyes. Oh, he was so tired. He heard Steve whimper in the room.

"Just-- just give me two days. I'm gonna work as fast as I can. Tony and I are almost finishing anyways. He's one of the smartest people I know and he thinks even faster than me. Bucky, please just-- fuck." The last time Steve had been that sick, he'd been in the hospital for almost a week. Sam had stayed in the hospital all week, eating when he could, not sleeping, just besides Steve, mask and PPE on so he didn't make him even sicker.

"I know. I know, he's not in really bad shape, so I don't think we have to go to the hospital this time. I'm doing everything I can, try not to worry too much, focus on your project, the more you do that the faster you'll finish." He walked towards the room and Steve was still wrapped in blankets and towels, shaking a bit. "There's someone who wants to talk to you." And Steve's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. 

"Hey baby," Sam said, hearing his boyfriend's shaky breath on the other side. "I miss you so much."

"I miss you more," Steve said, pouting. He didn't behave this way normally, he barely even cried when he was not sick. But fever made him so sad, his whole body ached and it was just awful. He couldn't draw, he couldn't eat the things he liked and he felt like a burden to Bucky. "I'm sorry for crying. I know you're busy and I know you worry-"

"Babe, honey I'm gonna be there in two days, I promise. We're gonna cuddle in your bed and I'm gonna make you food, so much food. We're gonna watch that french movies you like and I'm not gonna bitch about the subtitles, I swear." That brought a sad smile to Steve's face, but he sobbed anyways. "Sweetheart, don't cry, Bucky's there. I bet he can call Clint so you don't feel so lonely."

"I want you."

"I know. You have me baby, you know you do." 

In the meantime, Bucky grabbed Steve's phone and searched for Clint's contact and texted him quickly: 

_**Steve:** r u busy?_

_**Clint:** you're not Steve_

_**Clint:** I don't know who you are but if you stole my friend's phone I'm gonna fucking sue you and kick your ass_

Bucky laughed, Clint obviously knew that Steve didn't write that way. That was sweet, but hilarious nonetheless.

_**Steve:** clint it's me_

_**Clint:** buck?_

_**Clint:** what u doing with steve's phone_

_**Clint:** is he ok?_

_**Steve:** he's sick, can u come by and bring kate's chicken soup on ur way? pls _

_**Clint:** k_

* * *

A car parked outside the house, and Bucky frowned. Why would Clint take an Uber? He didn't like Ubers. But then he saw Kate getting out of the driver's side and Clint of the backseat with a box in his hands and he opened the door. "Hey," Bucky said, helping with the box, not aware of how he looked. 

"Shit, are you sick too?" Kate asked, putting her hand on his forehead. Bucky shakes his head. 

"I look like this when I don't sleep for almost two days. Steve's upstairs, he's asleep, but you can cuddle him if you want. Whatever he has it's not contagious, he's not sneezing and he's not coughing." Kate nodded and went upstairs quickly. Steve and Bishop bonded pretty quickly after Steve asked her to be his model, she was flattered and she enjoyed even awkwardly doing poses for almost three hours. 

Clint stayed downstairs, looking at Bucky. "Here, just, lay down on the couch for a second." The blonde guided the brunette and sat in the minimum space Bucky had left. "It's okay, just, close your eyes for a moment. Kate's with Steve, he's okay." Bucky hummed and closed his eyes. He looked tired. He had mismatched socks, his hair was tangled and his eyes had huge dark bags under them. The t-shirt he was wearing smelled a bit like chicken nuggets, but it was okay. It didn't bother Clint. 

He grabbed the comb that was stabbing him in the back and used it to comb Buck's hair softly. He let out a soft sigh and placed his head on Clint's lap. "How are you doing? Sorry I didn't ask earlier." But Clint wasn't really paying attention to his words. His eyes were fixated on the huge scars on James's shoulder. It circled the whole shoulder, extending to his chest a bit. He'd never seen him with a sleeveless t-shirt so he had never noticed. Bucky didn't move when he touched the damaged skin.

"I got in a lot of trouble when I was a teenager. I thought I said that to you when we met." 

"W-Who, what did this to you?" 

"I messed with the wrong people. That's what I earned. It's okay. I have almost eighty-eight percent of functionality and sensibility in my arm. There are almost fifteen screws in the forearm, it was a long recovery." He didn't really explain what happened, but Clint felt the bumps in his skin, it was like touching silk, the scars were pink but soft. 

Clint just caressed Bucky's face, _no blush, no shyness._


	8. Chapter 8

It was a breezy but fairly warm night, cold if you weren’t wearing something else than a t-shirt, but they kept the windows of the car open anyways. Clint felt his heart in his throat, but he was happy. Bucky was driving fast and almost reckless, breathing fast as he sang louder the 50s song that that radio station was playing. 

They were just riding around Staten Island, just for the hell of it. Bucky had picked him up at six in the afternoon, told him to grab his backpack, money and join him. And Clint did. 

Because why the fuck not?

Bucky laughed as the car’s wheels screeched against the asphalt, slamming on the brakes to avoid running a red light. Clint looked at him, alarmed, and the brown-haired man just waited till it was green to hit the gas, clenching his jaw. There was no singing anymore, but the radio was still playing. Clint wasn’t feeling so happy anymore.

“Buck--“ He tried to talk, but James just turned up the volume of the radio. They were going to pass a red light if they continued going at that speed. 

Clint grabbed the wheel and slammed Bucky’s foot to hit the brakes. “What the fuck was your fucking plan, man?!” Barton exclaimed, frowning as he looked at Bucky.

“Jesus take the wheel?” He answered, but there wasn’t that beautiful glint of joy in his eyes. There was something else. Something that Clint couldn’t really put his finger onto. The brunette tried to take the wheel and keep driving, but Barton would not give.

“Is this a fucking joke? James, what the fuck? Yer not going to pull this crap on me and expect me to drop it at a lame-ass answer.” 

“I tried to score some oxy. The kid didn’t want my money. He’d seen me in a meeting and he said he didn’t sell to sober shitheads. He started a fucking sad story about his dad that I couldn’t give two fucks about.” And he was crying. But there was a grin on his face, an eerie, raw, brief smile that sent shivers down Barton’s spine. It was like starting at himself when he was still drunk. “Eight years. Eight fucking years of sobriety and I wake up this morning feeling that I just can’t cope with not being high. Do you know how oxy withdrawals are? It’s torture.”

“You’re restless. You want to get up, you want to brush your teeth, but the minute your feet touch the ground you need to lie down. Yer shaky all the time, you’re nauseous, you can’t eat, but you want to eat so much, you feel so bad you can’t even think. And this was just the first month.” He was laughing now, getting a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. It was new, but Bucky hit the bottom a few times before opening it, lighting up a cig with a pretty old zippo. 

He thought Bucky didn’t smoke. He thought cigarettes grossed him.

“On a day like today, some many moons ago, Winnifred and George Barnes died. And a part of his little child died with them. It sounds dramatic, doesn’t it?” He took a long drag, letting the smoke crawl out from his nose. Clint still had his hand on the wheel. The light was green. They were in the lonesome street. The radio sang and mixed itself with the wind whistling in their ears, growing chiller as the minutes passed. 

Clint didn’t know how to react. The anniversaries of his dad’s death were probably one of the most irrelevant dates in the entire year. His mom was another thing, but he didn’t really allow himself to feel sad about that. “This about them, then.” He said, obviously useless. Bucky smiled, sardonic, and took another drag. “So what do you want me to do? Ya’ want me to yell at ya for being a dickhead? Cos’ I’m willing to if you like. Ya’ want me to hug your stupid ass? I can do that. I can deal with your bullshit, Barnes. I can handle you.”

“Get the fuck out of the damn car.”

_And Clint did._

Bucky did too. 

And he lunched forward, aiming for Clint’s middle, dropping the cigarette. The blonde gasped, feeling his shoes abandon the floor bellow them. They were in the middle of the street, Clint didn’t know the name of it but it was pretty neighborly, white pick fence kinda shit. He didn’t had enough time to think about it, because Bucky dropped him, he fell on his ass and the brunette was standing, emotionless. Clint opened his mouth to say anything, whatever it crossed his mind, but being awfully honest; his mind was in the blank.

He kicked the back of Bucky’s knees, making him fall. Bucky’s butt hit the asphalt in a hard thump. Clint stared at him. Just at him. The lights, dim and insufficient, were just the audience, not relevant in the plot of their history. And the radio said _I know you belong to somebody new_ , but Clint didn’t. He belonged there. On dirty asphalt, with Bucky at less than six inches apart, impassive. But he also belonged in the breakfast meetings at Bishop’s with the bitter coffee and the sleepy, senseless words that made them giggle.

_But tonight you belong to me._

“Yes.” He said, breathless all of the sudden. Bucky looked at him, confusion in his eyes but not in his expression. Clint didn’t elaborate. 

He got up, cleaned the dust off his jeans and offered Bucky a hand. He was strong too, he got James up in a couple of seconds.

He let go of his hand. But he also readjusted one on the small of Bucky’s back, and the other on his waist, holding him closer. He was taller than Bucky, and he felt how the brunette shifted his weight to the tip of his toes, putting his jaw in Clint’s shoulder, arms resting there too. Clint took a deep breath. Bucky smelled a lot like smoke, cologne, and vanilla. Peculiar combination, but it was fine. More than fine. Barton was grateful for the night, because if they were face to face in a place with more light, James could probably see his pupils dilated. 

Clint played with the belt loops of the brunette’s jeans, holding him tight and utterly sure of what he was doing. No hesitation. Cause he knows Buck now. Not for years, but fucking hell, it feels like it. Cause Barnes is that, is the addiction, is the withdrawal too. Is the tooth pain and the painkiller. And Barton is lost. All over again, just like with Barbara but at the same time so, so different from Barbara. 

Because Bucky was chatty. So flamboyant, so open about everything. But he was also unpredictable. He was an optimist and an ultra-realistic fella, but an optimist nonetheless. 

The blonde had thought about him so many times this month. His nights were interrupted by (for) Bucky. The smile, the beard and the smell of vanilla didn’t leave Clint’s head.

He felt a wetness on his neck, but he didn’t care. He just grabbed him closer, leaning against the car so he had more support. His butt was against the trunk. It hurt a bit for the way the brunette had dropped him to the floor. Buck between his legs, still holding onto him, his ass felt pain? Yeah, maybe, but what is a little pain compared to the feeling of Bucky’s muscles against him?

The station went dead, and it switched automatically because Buck’s car was that smart. The guy just didn’t like Spotify in his car. 

James moved back a bit, looking at Clint in the eyes. But the blonde closed them, getting near the brown-haired man, hand still on his waist, tracing soft circles. Their noses were touching. If Clint parted his lips, he could taste the smoked flavored breath of Bucky on his tongue. Bitter, but himself. All of him was this fierce, harsh layer, inside made of soft vanilla and the calm that you feel when you come home from a very tiring work day. He was all good things combined, just enough darkness in between to make him real.

The short one swallowed, hand on Clint’s face now, holding him still. There were no interruptions, no cops showing up because of how badly they were parked. No nosy neighbors. Clint licked his lips, moving his face slightly to the right, dropping his lips just above the stubble on Bucks cheek, close to the lips, but not too much. 

Bucky felt Clint’s eyelashes brush his face, his lips, wet and a bit rough, how they were in his face. Just there, not making another move. The blonde breathed evenly, dragging his lips down to Bucky’s jaw. He nibbled there, and James holds tight to the blonde’s shoulders. 

The pale blue eyes were still out of sight, but Bucky gave him some more space, turning his head left. 

He felt when Clint smiled against his skin. He thought his knees would not hold his weight anymore. But Clint had him. Shit, Clint’d had him since the day they met.

The wet lips were now on his neck, cold nose against warm skin. Clint pressed a kiss on his pulse point, getting just the tip of his tongue out, like he was trying to soothe the strong, accelerated pulse under him. But that just made Bucky sigh. 

What was he furious about? He couldn’t remember. 

Clint's mouth was open now, but he wasn’t biting, he just closed his jaw slightly and brushed with his teeth the already oversensitive skin there.

Bucky felt the shiver born in his cheeks and go down. Clint lifted his shirt in the back, just a bit, James swallowed. 

He hadn’t felt this way in a long, long time. Just because the sexual attraction wasn’t that big of a deal for him. The romance was cute, amazing, but sex? Not irreplaceable. 

But he was feeling the heat born in his stomach, and it was pure attraction. Clint was steady, dragging his short nails on his back, soft but there. _Oh, so there. Fuck._

Bucky wasn’t aware of the sounds blooming in his throat, but Clint was oh so close to him, and the radio was barely there when they were that close. _More_. He needed more. 

He pulled Clint’s head up, licking his lips and leaning closer, but he just got to barely touch his mouths together, didn’t even count as a kiss. Clint’s hand was on his throat, the same spot he’d kissed just moments earlier. He was smiling, Bucky was breathless. Not for the hand on his neck, just the way the man was looking at him. 

There was no ghost of Barbara. No regret. Just deep, pure understanding and want. The same way Bucky looked at him all the time. 

He said nothing, hand still on his neck, Bucky felt his legs shaking, but Clint was there, oh, so there. With him. For him. To him. He felt the hand of the blonde in his front pocket, going deeper than needed to get the keys of his car and he was smirking. Beautiful blue eyes scanning his face, his lips. 

The taller man’s hand pressed harder on his throat, slowing the flow of his blood a little more, an exquisite bit of dizziness that sent Bucky a bit crazier. The taller man leaned in, kissing his cheek again. He let go of his neck, but grabbed his hair and made Bucky stare at the sky while he bites just below his Adam’s apple, licking without a fucking shame. 

Where was that beautiful crimson red in the law student’s cheeks? He had some color on his face but there was no embarrassment. Bucky was loving it.

“Get your pretty ass in the backseat, honey. I’m driving ya’ home.” And Clint switched positions. Bucky was leaning against the truck, catching his breath. 

Clint smiled while he was sitting on the driver’s seat, he’d found their rhythm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, addict in recovery over here. I'm just gonna say anniversaries and rough dates are pretty fucking bad for me and my sobriety. By the way, this fanfic has a hell lot of my life and my boyfriend (who's also my beta, love u doll), so yeah, that's it. Were reaching to the end of the fanfic folks, and I hope y'all are liking it. Thanks for the hits and the kudos. xo


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